


What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

by KannaOphelia



Series: 31 First Kisses: Good Omens [19]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 2019, Crowley is responsible for all the minor evils of modern life, First Kiss, Frivolous Miracles, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Inspired by an Ella Fitzgerald song, M/M, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28452534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/pseuds/KannaOphelia
Summary: "Aziraphale? What do you want?" His voice was gruff, but that didn't mean it was unwelcoming."I was wondering if you had any New Year's Eve plans," Aziraphale said in a rush."Nope.""Really? I would have thought you would be out partying.""Nah. It's work, isn't it? Humans get all sozzled and affectionate, ripe for seduction to the ways of evil.""You don't have anyone you're intending to seduce tonight?""What?" Crowley's voice went up in a hoarse croak. Oh dear, Aziraphale had offended him."No, no. I'm off the clock, remember? Permanently. Don't have to do all that seducing nonsense. Was going to have a quiet night in watching old Disney movies. Would you--"
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 31 First Kisses: Good Omens [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559824
Comments: 49
Kudos: 264





	What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song of the same name, lyrics by Loesser Frank.
> 
> I hope 2021 treats you and the world well, my dear friends in Good Omens fandom. I love you.

In general, Aziraphale disapproved of telephones. They lacked the grace of a letter, the intrigue of a note passed by a street urchin or the importance of a message sent by a runner boy. Almost entirely without romance. But they were a necessity of modern life, the most convenient way to find out about estate sales and rare book auctions and, of late, to hear the voice of demons. Demons who carried phones _in their pockets_ and had a somewhat rude habit of staring at them and punching the screen while you were together. When Aziraphale had asked testily what was so fascinating, he had muttered something about needing an ultra-rare outfit drop to get on the route of the boy he was trying to date.

"Not a real one," he said hastily, when Aziraphale had perhaps let his expression show too clearly.

"Ah. A video game."

"You needn't say it so snippily. Some of my best work, these. Can't keep taking you for a spot of supper at the Connaught on Hell's wages, which by the way haven't been paid in quite some time. You know how much you liked their disgusting seaweed meringue with liver and jelly. Dissolving like manna on your tongue, you said. Which is about how I remember manna tasting, to be fair. Ah, at last, the pink diamond tiara!"

Just like that Aziraphale's temper had melted, because there was the assumption that Crowley would, indeed, continue to take him for spots of supper, and lunch, and breakfast. That they would spend time together just for the sake of it, not to exchange notes or for the Arrangement. No Heaven and Hell breathing down their shoulders, no ticking clock. Aziraphale's existence was almost perfect.

Almost. And probably he was silly to want anything more. Silly to have convinced himself that, on some level, they were a cosmic Romeo and Juliet, and if they could only escape-- _we could run off together_ \-- Crowley would pull him into his arms and say... things. Say wonderful things to Aziraphale, even though he was a joke even among angels.

When he was alone, Aziraphale could imagine the things Crowley would say now they had the chance. _I've always loved you_ and _I want you so much_ and _we can be together now_ and, most secretly and guiltily daydream of all, _marry me._ Alone in his bookshop, it was all too possible to imagine lips and bodies and hearts meeting, to go back through every heated glance and tender look and forget every barbed insult and impatient mutter. When actually confronted with a prickly, sensitive and indolent demon, it seemed foolish and impossible.

Aziraphale had attempted a "dearest" instead of "dear" a few weeks after they had been fired, and Crowley had spluttered a bit and then walked out without saying a word. He hadn't turned up at the bookshop again for days. Endearments were obviously even worse than calling him nice, and the "my love" and "my beloved" Aziraphale sometimes tried out in his head were completely inappropriate.

Enough to remember _my best friend_ and be glad that this vivid, difficult presence was by his side for good.

He sighed and dialled Crowley's number.

Crowley picked up on the first ring. He had probably been playing one of his silly games, phone in hand.

"Aziraphale? What do you want?" His voice was gruff, but that didn't mean it was unwelcoming.

"I was wondering if you had any New Year's Eve plans," Aziraphale said in a rush.

"Nope."

"Really? I would have thought you would be out partying."

"Nah. It's work, isn't it? Humans get all sozzled and affectionate, ripe for seduction to the ways of evil."

"You don't have anyone you're intending to seduce tonight?"

"What?" Crowley's voice went up in a hoarse croak. Oh dear, Aziraphale had offended him."No, no. I'm off the clock, remember? Permanently. Don't have to do all that seducing nonsense. Was going to have a quiet night in watching old Disney movies. Would you--"

"But you must have human friends who are partying."

"What? Oh yeah, yeah. Invited to all the wildest parties. Goes with the job."

"Oh, good." Aziraphale summoned his courage. It was easier over the phone, that was one thing to be said for them. "I was hoping you'd take me with you."

"What?"

Aziraphale was a little offended at the astonished tone. "I can be quite the, ah, party animal, sometimes."

Crowley snorted. "Yeah, I know. I was around in the sixteen sixties when Christmas came back. But is twenty-first century partying really your kind of scene? Lots of, you know. Drunk people, ah, kissing. Especially around midnight."

"How exactly is that different from the sixteen sixties? Except now I'm allowed to participate."

Crowley really did make the oddest and most indecipherable noises sometimes. "All right," he said weakly. "I'll pick you up around ten."

"Marvellous," said Aziraphale, and hung up.

He was well aware that a lot of kissing happened around midnight. If it didn't happen then, well.

Best friends was good. Best friends was simply wonderful, and he certainly didn't feel his eyes ache at the thought.

* * *

"I do hope I've dressed appropriately," Aziraphale said, fretting a little. His suit was beautiful, and what he vaguely remembered as night club wear, but now he found himself uncertain of how many decades ago it was. Time passed so quickly, these days.

Crowley dragged his gaze up and down the angel's form, and Aziraphale wished he could see his eyes behind glasses that were larger than they had been for quite some time. He braced himself for a joke at his expense, and began to prepare a sharp answer. Instead, Crowley said, "You look perfect. For where we're going, I mean." Crowley was himself wearing a kind of outfit Aziraphale hadn't seen him since the last century. Crowley _did_ look sharp in tailored suits, even if he also gave meaning to tight denim jeans, and fashion was circular; he remembered being pleased in the 1960s that Edwardian fashion was back in style. Crowley's hat was set jauntily over his head, and he looked like at any moment he was going to open his jacket and offer to sell dubious pocket watches and black market silk stockings. It was charming.

Aziraphale suspected he would find Crowley charming in a bin bag. Mind you, he had actually worn them for a bit, during his punk phase.

"So where are we going? A warehouse? A secret basement?" Aziraphale asked with lively interest. "Will there be illicit drugs?"

"Aziraphale, you live in Soho. You don't have to go to a secret basement to find illicit drugs." There was that tugging at the corner of his mouth that Aziraphale had learned to read as half irritation, half fondness. Maybe more than half fondness. "Come on. We need to walk, or you'll complain about me hitting pedestrians. It's not far."

The streets were loud, noisy and cheerful, and Aziraphale's heart sang. So much humanity around him, none of it knowing how lucky there were to be alive. He looked at Crowley's hand swinging beside him as they walked. Just for a moment hesitated, imagining the back of his own hand brushing against it, maybe turning to enmesh their fingers, then folded his hands neatly behind his back. Crowley shoved his own hands in his pockets.

There were huge crowds on the banks of the river and some human nonsense about the footbridge across the Thames being closed to pedestrians or something, and e-tickets, whatever they were, but Aziraphale never let petty things like that bother him, and Crowley just grinned and flashed his phone. The wind was bitter, but there was no one to chide him if he used just a _little_ miracle so that his scarf and coat were not all that were protecting him from the cold. And the warmth of humanity around him bathed his soul in sunshine.

His first full year of being rejected by Heaven was looming. He should feel sadness and loss. He took in the craggy profile next to him, and felt like dancing.

Dancing was, in fact, on the menu. There was what Crowley airily described as a "pop-up nightclub", and Crowley steered him to a floor in which...

...well. The clothes were a job lot of 1930s and 1940s styles, and the materials and fixings were all wrong, but if Aziraphale put on determinedly rose coloured glasses, they were celebrating the end of a particularly nasty war again. Aziraphale had remembered Crowley coming to his rescue, saving his _books_ , and dreamed about taking advantage of the general jubilation to kiss him.

"Want dancing lessons?" Crowley was smirking, evidently pleased with the results of his surprise. There were indeed instructors taking giggling couples out.

"Not in front of the humans, dear," Aziraphale said, and a bark of laughter escaped Crowley. A table cleared just as they approached, and they took their seats while Crowley got them drinks.

"I thought you were taking me to a _party_. Sin and decadence."

"Better off here. You'll see the fireworks better from the balcony. Besides, didn't you get enough decadence in Rome?" Crowley hesitated. "Are you _serious_ about wanting to experience sin?"

"No, I suppose not." Aziraphale let his gaze rest on Crowley's mouth. "Seems a pity. Poor humans."

"Yeah. I like them, you know."

"I do know." Aziraphale felt deep affection well up in his heart, and only a little was for the humans.

They sat back quietly and watched the dancers and the band on stage. Not talking. After all, there was no need to talk to drive away fear of being observed. It would be easy, so easy, to reach out and take Crowley's hand. Aziraphale watched it on the table, put his own close. he was almost sure Crowley's hand twitched in response, like he wanted to close the gap. But _almost_ was not enough.

The dancers began to trickle out onto the balcony. "It's nearly midnight," Aziraphale said.

"Yeah. If we want to get a good view of the fireworks, we should move."

They remained seated. Somehow their chairs had drifted closer together. Outside, they began to count, and neither of them made a move, except that Crowley pushed his glasses back onto his head, his ageless, ancient eyes glittering in the dim light. Aziraphale felt like he couldn't drag his gaze away if he tried.

The humans would be counting soon. Endearingly odd, the emphasis they put on arbitrary dates. They would count, and the fireworks would go off, and the humans would embrace and kiss. Aziraphale caught his lower lip in his teeth, just for a moment, and Crowley sighed a little, and leaned closer. Every nerve in Aziraphale's body was thrumming, his heart pounding.

 _Ten._ They could hear the delighted shrieking of the number all along the South Bank.

Aziraphale leaned a little closer, lifted his face just a little.

 _Nine._ Crowley glanced away, then back to him, wetted his lips with a tongue that just might be forked. His irises had swallowed the whites of his eyes.

 _Eight_. Crowley's gaze fluttered sideways.

_Seven._

"Shit, angel, just saw someone I want to talk to. Be right back."

And Crowley was gone.

Aziraphale turned, and saw Crowley half-running towards a very beautiful young man and taking his arm, dragging him to the balcony.

Aziraphale sat and sipped his drink while the countdown finished. The party-goers trickled back in, and the band started up again. Not that he had expected to be kissed, not really. They were friends, and that made sense, he and Crowley had been the only continuous earthly presence in each other's lives a very long time. There certainly weren't jealous, disappointed tears prickling Aziraphale's eyes. He was above such human softness. Hopefully Crowley had reached his young man in time for the final kiss.

"Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight, when it's exactly twelve o'clock that night, welcoming in the New Year," crooned the singer on stage. Aziraphale tried not to listen.

Still, Aziraphale told himself, it was very impertinent of that insufferable demon to abandon him like that. Just because he had fallen didn't mean he shouldn't show proper manners. Aziraphale had a good idea to go and tell him so. The remnants of the cocktail agreed with his resolution, or at least the sad little umbrella and cherry in them did.

He walked with conscious dignity out to the balcony, and immediately regretted it. Crowley and the young man were standing very, very close, Crowley's face an inch from his, hands gripping his arms. Good Lord, he had probably interrupted them between more kisses. No wonder Crowley hadn't invited him out. Disney movies, indeed.

He turned, blinded by angry tears, when the hissing caught his ears through the cheering crowds and fireworks and blaring music.

"And then I will wind your entrails on a stick, and _drip_ holy water on them, drop by drop by drop."

Well. That didn't _sound_ particularly romantic. Aziraphale decided to remain, just for a bit.

"Look, I didn't know your friend would be here, okay? Come on, Crowley. No need to be unfriendly."

"Unfriendly? The only reason you are still in _existence_ is that you didn't actually lay a hand on him in Heaven, you..." Crowley gave up and broke into very expressive Old Enochian.

"Oh dear," Aziraphale said. He said it very quietly, but he was almost sure there was a divine push behind it, and that he was glowing. "Do I need to _smite_ someone for you, dear?" The _other_ demon gave him one terrified look and then obviously decided Falstaff had the right of it on certain topics and vanished in a puff of smoke as brightly coloured as the fireworks.

"Aziraphale." Crowley gave him a confused look. "Sorry. If I'd known there would be infernal activity here... It's a bloody annual vintage festival! I--Aziraphale, have you been crying?"

There was no way Crowley could tell, not when the only lighting was fireworks. Even a demon couldn't tell.

"No, of course not."

"Who did it?" Crowley's hands were on his upper arms, but there was no talk of entrails and holy water, even if he was snarling into Aziraphale's face. His face was distorted and clearly demonic, teeth showing and eyes bulging, and he was beautiful, so beautiful. "Are there more? I'll get them, angel, I'll do anything, I'll fight them all, I won't let them harm you, I'd do anything, anything for you, they can't touch you, you're mine at last, my love..."

Aziraphale gave up trying to get a word in edgeways, and kissed him instead.

Strange. He had always imagined Crowley would be the one to take initiative, that it was Aziraphale's job to indirectly invite and then swoon. Now Crowley was slack-jawed in amazement against his mouth, and Aziraphale wanted to chuckle, wanted to laugh and cry and put his arms around Crowley's waist and draw him closer, oh, he already had, and press tender kisses on his lower lip, his dear, dear, dear boy...

Crowley made a muffled sound, clutched at his back, and finally kissed him back, the pressure of his lips over sharp teeth intoxicating. Aziraphale gasped and lost control of the kiss somehow, a forked tongue stroking against his own, but instinct took over, his jaw relaxing and tongue caressing back.

"I was going to kiss you at midnight!" Crowley snapped once the kiss ended. "It was going to be gentle and romantic, and I was going to... hold your hand and confessss..."

"What particular crime were you going to confess?" Aziraphale couldn't stop smiling. There was rock music outside around them and jazz filtering from inside and people laughing and shouting everywhere and fireworks booming and Crowley was holding Aziraphale so tight it seemed he would never let go. "What would shock me coming from a fiend like you?"

"Confess that I have loved you ever since Eden, and never had any hope until recently, you smug, bitchy _angel._ " Crowley kissed him again, with such fervour that Aziraphale tripped over his feet and bumped into partygoers behind him.

"Oh, go have it off somewhere else, you old perverts!" yelled someone.

"Generation Xers are like that, completely obsessed with sex," said a disgusted looking young lady in fake furs and sequins.

"Are we, my darling?" Aziraphale asked, dizzy with the joy of being able to say _my darling_.

"Generation anything? No. Obsessed with sex? I think I _could_ be, with proper encouragement," Crowley said, waggling an eyebrow, which should have just been ridiculous and instead was utterly disarming. Enchanting. Everything about Crowley was enchanting. And perfect and dear and wonderful. "I mean, only if you--"

"I think I could be," Aziraphale said cautiously, absolutely not going to admit to having been obsessed with the thought of carnal relations with Crowley in particular. Even when they were pressed together and it was abundantly clear that Crowley was quite worked up already. "With proper encouragement."

"Oh, I'll encourage you all right." Crowley kissed him again. Crowley seemed to be willing to answer absolutely everything with kisses, and to punctuate every sentence with them. It was delightful. "Call me your darling again."

"My darling. I love you, you wicked old serpent," Aziraphale said softly, and for a moment Crowley's face worked as if he was afraid he would break. "Happy New Year, sweetheart. _My_ sweetheart."

"I really am going to discorporate, and that's going to be embarrassing." Crowley buried his head on Aziraphale's shoulder for a moment. "Going to have to walk home. Teleportation is tricky, and feeling like this... But Satan and all his imps, I want to get you home."

"Will you hold my hand?" Aziraphale asked, feeling oddly shy.

"Will I... fuck, yeah." Crowley raised his head, laughing, but there were un-snakelike tears in his eyes. "I will hold your hand. And no one can bloody stop me." His face twisted again. " _Sweetheart._ "

"Don't faint, my delicate demon."

"Shut up," said Crowley, and kissed him again, long and wet and deliciously promising.

Phones, Aziraphale thought as they would through the miraculously parting revellers, were quite useful after all, but they were no substitute for having Crowley right there, holding his hand as promised and sneaking looks at him every few minutes as if to reassure himself Aziraphale was truly there. And his.

A new year. Free. And together.

"Love you," Crowley said under his breath, and despite the noise, Aziraphale heard him perfectly.

**Author's Note:**

> "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?"
> 
> When the bells all ring and the horns all blow  
> And the couples that we know are fondly kissing  
> Will I be with you or will I be among the missing?  
> Maybe it's much too early in the game  
> Oh, but I thought I'd ask you just the same  
> What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?  
> Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight  
> When it's exactly 12 o'clock, midnight  
> Welcoming in the New Year, New Year's Eve  
> Oh, maybe I'm crazy to suppose  
> That I'd ever be the one you chose  
> Out of the thousand invitations you receive  
> Oh, but in case I stand one little chance  
> Here comes the jackpot question in advance  
> What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?  
> Oh, maybe I'm crazy to suppose  
> That I'd ever be the one that you chose  
> Out of the thousand invitations you receive  
> Oh, but in case I stand one little chance  
> Here comes the jackpot question in advance  
> What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?
> 
> [On Youtube](https://youtu.be/UFdfzNMV52Q)


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